


If Wishes Were Horses

by TotallyJeannius



Series: Tangled up in knots someone else tied [2]
Category: Resurrection (US TV)
Genre: 1940s, Arranged Marriage, Canon Compliant, Drama, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Dynamics, First Love, Friendship/Love, Heartbreak, Pre-Series, Unrequited Love, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-19 18:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3619851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotallyJeannius/pseuds/TotallyJeannius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Seven years ago, she had watched those two men disappear, never to return again. And today, on what should be the happiest day of her life, Margaret knows something else will disappear from this earth forever as well." </p><p>Inspired by episode 2.10 "Prophecy".</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Wishes Were Horses

> [F]or the world, which seems  
>  To lie before us like a land of dreams,  
>  So various, so beautiful, so new,  
>  Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,  
>  Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain
> 
> —Matthew Arnold, "Dover Beach"

 

     It's a warm afternoon in August, and Margaret stands on her front porch, mentally preparing herself for Ben's departure to the University of Chicago. As the afternoon drags on, she begins to worry that he might have already left town without saying goodbye. She reassures herself he would never do such a thing, but she still breathes a sigh of relief when his car finally appears.

"Always save the best for last," he says with a smile as he hops out of the car and walks up to the porch. He stops at the bottom of the steps, reaches into his pockets, and holds out his closed fists. "Pick a hand," he says with a playful glint in his brown eyes.

She taps his right hand and he opens it to reveal a coil of stamps.

"For you. So you won't have any excuse not to write me," he teases as she takes the coil of stamps from him, her fingers lightly brushing against his palm.

"And what's in your other hand?" she asks in a similarly teasing tone.

"Well, I guess I won't have any excuse not to write either," he says, revealing another coil of stamps in his left hand, drawing a laugh from her. In a more serious tone, Ben tells her, "I'll write to you just as soon as I'm settled in, Meg, I promise." He pauses for a moment before asking her, "Will you do me a favor?"

"Of course," she replies immediately.

"Will you look in on Huckleberry for me every now and then? Poor fella's bound to be a little lonely while I'm away. I just want to make sure that he has someone looking out for him, and I can't think of anyone better than you," he says with a shy smile.

Ben always had a way of making her feel special, and this moment is no exception. "Of course I will. We'll look after each other," she assures him, her voice sounding far steadier than she actually feels.

He smiles and pulls her into a hug. She closes her eyes and breathes him in, equal parts happy that his dreams are coming true and sad that her best friend is leaving. She looks up to see his smiling face looking down at her. Suddenly, it dawns on her that she's still wrapped in his arms, and for a brief second, she wonders if he might kiss her. The thought causes her heart to race, and she feels the heat rapidly rising in her cheeks. But Ben takes a small step backwards and playfully taps her on the nose, saying that he'll see her at Christmastime. She smiles, doing her best to hide how foolish she feels. And then he surprises her by quickly kissing her on the cheek before turning on his heel and walking back to the car. She stands there feeling a little lightheaded as she watches Ben wave goodbye to her from the car. Her legs feel a bit shaky as she sits down on the porch steps. She stays there long after Ben has driven down the driveway and away from Arcadia. She watches the sunset with butterflies in her stomach and a dreamy look on her face.

* * *

     His first letter from Chicago arrives within the week, and she can't help but smile at the thought that she had been the last person he had wanted to see before leaving Arcadia and the first person he had written to. She looks forward to his letters like she's never looked forward to anything else before. After school, she walks home with a spring in her step, hoping that a new letter will be waiting for her. On the afternoons when there is a letter waiting, she sits in one of the rocking chairs on the front porch and loses herself for hours in reading and re-reading his latest letter. Only when the sun begins to dip below the horizon does she remember the chores and the schoolwork she had neglected.

Her Saturdays are devoted to writing to Ben. Whereas she had once enjoyed sleeping in on Saturday mornings, now she wakes up early, eager to start the day. After breakfast with her dad, she packs herself a lunch and gathers Ben's letters and her stationary. With everything thrown into her satchel, she jumps on her bicycle and hurriedly makes her way across town. She pedals down the path behind the Langston estate and opens the wooden gate to find Huckleberry alone in the garden and waiting for her. He waits for her by the magnolia tree, his tail wagging furiously as soon as he sees her. He runs alongside her bicycle, and the two of them make their way down to the lake together. They spend the whole day lounging on the dock. Huckleberry rests his head on her lap as she reads Ben's latest letter out loud. College life has exceeded even his greatest expectations, and as Margaret reads Ben's letters, she can almost hear his enthusiastic voice narrating his words, can almost picture him writing from all the places he describes. His first letter had been written on his first morning on campus. He had hardly been able to sleep the night before. He had been so excited about being at the university and couldn't wait to explore the campus before his first class. Early that morning, he had sat at his desk and watched the sun rise from his dormitory window. Campus had still been asleep and he could just make out the skyscrapers of the Chicago skyline in the distance. The sight before him had been so perfect and he had felt such a profound sense of calm that he wasn't sure whether he was awake or still asleep.

As she reads his letters, she wishes she could be there with him, experiencing all these extraordinary things with him. The way Ben describes the campus makes her think of the castles from the fairy tales she's always loved. She can't help but sigh as she reads about the ivy-covered gothic buildings and of afternoons spent idling away on the Midway Plaisance. His description of the library, with its vaulted ceiling and the perfect way the afternoon sun pours through its massive stained-glass windows, takes her breath away.

Everything about his life in Chicago sounds idyllic. During the school week, he passes his days in the company of his friends, reading and discussing so many incredible books, and exploring every nook and cranny of the university. His weekends are spent with his mother's family, who are a stark contrast from the Langstons. For all their wealth and influence, his McCormick relatives are a generous and welcoming family. His Saturdays are spent sailing on Lake Michigan or taking in a baseball game at Wrigley Field with his cousins or golfing with his grandfather. Saturday evenings, he joins his aunts, uncles, and cousins for dinner at his grandparents' house. It's a McCormick tradition and one that he loves. Over a multiple course dinner, there would be discussions and laughter that last late into the evening. He would spend the night at his grandparents' house, and after Sunday brunch, he would head back down to the university and prepare to start another wonderful week.

The semester flies by, and on a Saturday morning in early December, Ben sends his last letter from the University of Chicago. In his letter, he writes that he is looking forward to the end of his exams and to seeing Margaret during the holidays. The next day, he's having brunch with his grandparents when the news arrives that the Japanese have attacked Pearl Harbor.

* * *

     Margaret can't remember anything specific from the days that followed. The tension is palpable throughout Arcadia. At school, even the usually troublesome students are more subdued. Margaret finds it difficult to concentrate on anything for very long. Everywhere she goes, there is a radio on. In the evenings, her dad returns from the factory and immediately switches on the radio in the kitchen, and the sound of the news broadcast permeates every room of the house. The constant talk of war grates on her ears and her nerves, but she finds that having the radio off only makes her feel even more ill at ease. Suddenly, it would feel as though all the air had been sucked out of the room and the sound of a ticking clock would be deafening. Walking through town, the sound of the clock tower bells tolling away the hours has taken on a funereal quality. The chill in the air has kept everyone indoors, and the streets are eerily empty and quiet. It seems as though all the color in the world has faded away. The sunlight is hazy and barely penetrates the heavy blanket of clouds that has settled over the town. The trees are bare and the leaves are shriveled and almost black in color. Her world seems smaller than ever as she goes straight to school and straight back home every day. She can't remember how many days pass in this manner, with one day simply flowing into the next one without distinction.

Then, on a random afternoon, the color suddenly comes back into her world. Her mind is distracted by all the talk of the war and her eyes are downcast as she walks home from school. She is a few yards away from her front porch when she suddenly gets the feeling that she isn't alone. She looks up and her large, blue eyes go wide with shock to find Ben sitting on the porch steps, holding Huckleberry in his lap, and waiting for her.

She is so stunned to see him that she stands frozen in place and unable to form any words. His smile slowly fades as he looks at her, his concern clearly visible in his brown eyes. He sets Huckleberry down and makes his way down the porch steps towards her, torn between approaching her slowly so as not to startle her and wanting to get to her as quickly as possible. Her heart pounds furiously as she watches him walking towards her. The few seconds it takes for him to walk over to her feel like they're happening in slow motion. It has only been four months since he'd left, and yet he looks so different to her. His clothes are impeccable, and the blue color of his shirt stands out so vividly against the grayness all around them. He seems even taller, his hair is neatly cut, and there is a faint trace of stubble on his jaw. He looks like he hasn't slept a good night's sleep in a while, but it does not detract from his appearance. If anything, it almost has the opposite effect. He looks so handsome walking towards her with a serious expression on his face that it leaves her breathless.  _When had she begun to think of her best friend as a handsome boy?_  The question leaves her bewildered, and she's never felt more out of place than she does in that moment. She's standing there in a plain dress and a heavy wool coat, whereas Ben looks more handsome than any leading man she's ever seen.

"Hello, Meg," he says in a voice barely above a whisper. His voice has a somewhat breathless quality to it and his eyes are looking straight into hers with an intensity she's never seen before. The cold December wind cuts through the trees and sends her long hair flying in every direction. Ben is tired from the events of the past few days and from the drive down from Chicago. But as he stands there looking at Margaret, the only thing he's aware of is how she no longer wears her hair in pigtails. Instead, her long hair falls in soft waves over her slender shoulders. The sudden realization makes him feel out of breath and calm at the same time. He reaches out to sweep her hair out of her face and tuck the wavy locks behind her ears. She inhales sharply at how warm his hands are and how they linger as his thumb caresses her temple.

"You must be freezing," he says when he notices her shivering. He shrugs out of his coat and wraps it around her and the two of them walk into the house together.

Once inside, Margaret goes to the kitchen to make the two of them some tea. She puts the kettle on the stove and stands in the kitchen doorway, silently watching Ben as he gathers a couple logs from beside the fireplace and begins to build a fire. She goes about her business in the kitchen, but her eyes keep drifting back to him. The whistling of the kettle puts an abrupt end to her daydreaming, and she quickly grabs two mugs for her and Ben and makes her way to the living room. He's sitting cross-legged in front of the fire and leaning back against the coffee table. She doesn't say anything as she comes to sit next to him and offers him a cup of tea. They sip their tea in silence, and she tries to think of something interesting to say to him.

"Are you all right?" she asks gently. He looks so weary, but he turns to her and gives her a half smile.

"I'm fine. Just a little tired," he replies.

He must have left Chicago very early that morning and been driving all day, so she does her best not to press him on the subject. "I've really enjoyed your letters. We both have," she says looking down at Huckleberry.  _We've both missed you._

He's staring at the fire with a blank expression as he slowly nods in agreement. Her heart sinks a little. Ben's too quiet and she can tell something's bothering him. She worries that she might have said or done something wrong. Or that he's regretting coming over and looking for a way to leave as soon as possible. She's about to ask him what's the matter when he scrubs his hands over his face and quickly stands up to leave.

"I'm sorry. I'm just . . . a lot more tired than I realized. Could we . . . would you mind if we talk tomorrow? I should really get some sleep."

"Of course. Whatever you need, it's fine," she tells him, doing her best to keep any trace of apprehension out of her voice. She's still sitting on the floor as he scoops up Huckleberry and walks to the door. She's tempted to tell him that he can stay here, instead of driving all the way back across town. Her mind begins to drift, to the pleasant image of Ben lying on the sofa with Huckleberry curled up next to him and her covering the two of them with her favorite quilt as they sleep. She hears Ben open the door, and it snaps her back to reality. She quickly gets up and walks over to him.

"Ben, what's going on? Are you sure you're all right?" she asks, placing her hand on his forearm.

"I'm fine. I'll tell you everything tomorrow, okay? I promise," he says, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She feels him press a light kiss against the top of her head. "I'll see you tomorrow, Meg."

* * *

     By the time she arrives at school the next morning, the news that Benjamin Langston is back in town has made its rounds, which doesn't surprise her as Ben had always been a popular boy. To the teachers, he was an excellent student. To the boys, he was the star of the varsity basketball team. And the girls had definitely taken notice of the boy who had always been tall and handsome and who is now a college boy dressed in fine clothes. In the hallway, Margaret spots Mary Edgerton giggling with a group of girls. Normally, the less-than-friendly look Mary throws her way would have bothered her, but this morning Margaret finds it comical. To think that Mary Edgerton, the prettiest girl in school, should be jealous of her! It takes some effort not to give in to the smirk she feels pulling at the corners of her mouth, but she manages to re-direct her eyes straight ahead and appear unaffected as she walks past them.

Everyone might assume it's her dad's coat she's wearing today, but Margaret knows that it's actually Ben's. He had left it at her house yesterday afternoon, and she had been worried that he'd catch a cold without it. She had hung his coat on a chair in her room and had stared out her window all evening, hoping Ben might stop by. It was nearly midnight when she finally accepted that he wouldn't be stopping by and that she would be unable to fall asleep if she kept staring at his coat hanging across the room. So she had curled up under the covers with his coat and imagined that he was there with her. Within a few minutes, she had fallen fast asleep, breathing in the lingering scent of Old Spice and her fingers curled around one of the lapels. The whole thing makes her feel incredibly silly and yet she cannot stop smiling. She pulls his coat tighter around her and knows she will spend the entire school day staring out the window and daydreaming about seeing Ben in the afternoon.

It's only when the school day finally comes to an end that Margaret realizes that she and Ben never discussed where they would meet. As she walks back to her house, her mind starts racing through all the possible explanations for Ben's return. She knew he would be coming back to Arcadia for the holidays, but he is back in town sooner than expected and had arrived on a weekday. She can tell that something is amiss. Had something happened at the university? Had something happened to his family? Arcadia is a small town and the Langstons are its most prominent family, but she has not heard anything of significance about them. Certainly not anything significant enough to bring Ben back to town so suddenly. What she does hear about the Langstons does not go beyond the usual gossip concerning Warren Langston's unchanged bachelor status. Like everyone else, she had been convinced an engagement between Warren and Susan Edgerton would be announced at that party three years ago. Margaret had snuck into the garden at the back of the Langston estate and watched the party by the magnolia tree with Ben. When it turned out Edward Langston's big announcement was that Warren had been promoted to Vice President of the Langston Furniture Company, Ben had jokingly thrown down his glass of punch in dramatic fashion and declared the Mrs. Warren Langston Sweepstakes a lost cause. Luckily, she and Ben had been far away from all the other guests so that no one heard their rather unsuccessful attempts at containing their laughter.

Three years later, even the stubborn Mr. Harold Edgerton had relented in his attempts to broker a match between his family and the Langstons. Susan Edgerton had moved on with one of her father's business associates, a young man from Nashville whose charming smile sent all the young ladies into a frenzy every time he visited Arcadia. Susan's father, proud man that he is, had spared no expense in placing a prominent announcement in the local newspaper and throwing a lavish party at the Arcadia Country Club to announce his daughter's engagement. During the final days of the summer recess, Margaret had often stopped by the factory to have lunch with her dad. Sometimes, she would catch a glimpse of Warren Langston, who appears unaffected by the news of Susan's engagement. He carries on as he had before, silently shadowing Edward Langston everywhere with the same blank expression on his face. Ben's letters from his mother, however, tell a different story, as Warren's drinking preferences have transitioned from beer to whiskey.

The farmhouse comes into view, and she can see Ben, still looking as weary and tense as he had yesterday afternoon, sitting on the porch steps. The fact that his car is nowhere in sight only causes her to worry even more. It's a bitterly cold day, and he had walked across town without his coat. The Andersons' front door is never locked, so he could have waited inside. She quickens her pace, wanting to get him out of the cold as soon as possible. He silently follows her inside the house, with the two of them going through the same motions as they had the day before: him building a fire in the living room and her preparing tea in the kitchen and unable to keep her eyes from drifting over to him.

As they sit in front of the fire with their mugs of tea, it's the first time Margaret's ever found herself feeling nervous around Ben. Suddenly, she feels deeply self-conscious about everything and wonders why a boy as perfect as Ben would be spending his afternoon here. She wishes she was someone else. Someone effortlessly cool and confident, someone full of witty sayings. Like one of those high society girls whose company he must have enjoyed at his grandparents' house. While it bothers her that she's tongue-tied, she tells herself that it has at least kept her from blurting out something that would remind Ben that she's a fourteen-year-old country girl. Especially when she wants nothing more than for him to look at her the same way he must look at the well-read, sophisticated young ladies at the university.

She tightens her hold on her mug to keep her hands from fidgeting. Ben clears his throat and says, "I won't be going back to Chicago in the spring."

He's staring straight ahead into the fire. Between the blank expression on his face and the eerily flat tone of his voice, he almost resembles Warren. She thinks of all the letters he had written over the past semester, letters overflowing with words about the happiness he had experienced in Chicago. It all seems completely at odds with what he's telling her now. She can't make sense of any of it.

"I don't understand. Why?" she asks him in a thin voice.

"Because I've enlisted in the Army!" he answers her, more abruptly than he had intended.

He thinks back to ten days ago, to how a perfect Sunday brunch had been interrupted by reports on the radio of an attack on a naval base in Hawaii. He hadn't returned to campus that evening. Instead, he had sat in front of the fire in his grandfather's study with the radio drowning out any other sounds, and he had known his idyllic days in Chicago were over. The next day, the country had declared war and Ben had found himself standing in line with dozens of other young men in a recruiting office. He had passed the next week in a state of near madness. He had barely slept or eaten and was running almost entirely on adrenaline. And yet somehow he had had the lucidity to successfully complete all his final projects, pass his examinations, and file all the necessary paperwork to formally withdraw from the university. Yesterday morning, he had walked through the snowy campus at sunrise, trying to commit everything to memory. He knew it would be the last time, but his nerves had been too frayed to process anything. He cannot remember anything from yesterday morning's drive. It's as if one minute he was staring at the gargoyles on Cobb Gate and the next he was suddenly knocking on the front door of the Langston estate. The timing of his arrival had been deliberate, as the only person at home would be his mother and she deserved to be the first to know. True to form, Caroline Langston had remained composed and had told Ben that she was so proud of him. But after the two of them had had lunch together, she had removed herself to her bedroom and broken down in sobs. Ben had sat silently at the top of the stairs with Huckleberry until he just couldn't stand to be in the house for another second. He had felt delirious with fatigue as he drove over to the Andersons' farm.

As he sits on the floor now, he is struck by the feeling of déjà vu. He turns his head to look at Margaret, and the sight of her blue eyes glistening in the firelight is what finally clears the fog that has clouded his own eyes for the past ten days. She looks so small and frightened.

"Meg, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. I just . . . I'm sorry. I'm just tired and worried and ever since I arrived I've brought nothing but tears. First mother and now you," he apologizes, the words spoken rapidly. Her long hair is covering her face, and he thinks perhaps it makes delivering the bad news easier. Though it doesn't make the pain any less acute or stop him from momentarily hating himself when he hears her sniffle quietly.

She shakes her head. "It's not that. It's . . ." 

Her voice trails off. She takes a deep breath, willing the fear to subside. She's heard the reports on the radio. The United States has declared war. Thousands had died at Pearl Harbor. Europe is being bombed into oblivion. She knows all those things, but her whole life is in Arcadia, and all those awful things had happened somewhere else, somewhere far away. She knows how selfish that must make her sound, but the war hadn't interrupted the world as she knows it.  _Until now._

"Why? Why would you put your life in danger like that?" she asks angrily. "I don't want you to go! I want you back at the university where it's safe!"

Ben gives her a sad smile and simply nods. Anything he could say to her in this moment would come across as half-hearted platitudes. And he knows it isn't him that she's really angry with. His fingers itch to sweep her hair away from her face and to wipe her tears away with a gentle sweep of his thumbs. Instead, he decides it might be best to give her some time and space to process everything. He places his mug on the coffee table and gathers his coat from the sofa. He walks to the door, and she sits silently, dreading the sound of the door closing behind him.

He puts his hand on the doorknob, but he doesn't leave. He looks over the where she sits and watches the way the glow of the fire brings out all the shades of chestnut and auburn in her hair.

"I'm not going to change my mind about enlisting. I only hope that you won't stay angry with me. Because I'll write to you every chance I get, and I hope . . . I'd like it if you'd write me back sometime," he says. "I'll be catching the train to Fort Leonard Wood in a few days, and I'd really like to see you before I leave." He opens the door to leave, and the cold air hits him like a punch to the gut. He looks at his feet as he adds, "But if I don't see you again, I hope you and your dad have a good Christmas. I'll write to you as soon as I can. I promise, Meg."

She can hear the sadness in his voice, and she turns to ask him to stay. But he's already gone.

When her dad returns home that evening, he finds her sitting in front of the fireplace, hugging her knees. He calls her name gently, but she doesn't respond. She listens as he hangs his coat by the door and removes his work boots. He sits down on the floor next to her and puts his arm around her.

"I suspect this is about Benjamin's decision to enlist," he says. She looks at him, her eyes teary and confused. "He came by the factory about an hour ago. We talked for a little while and then I drove him home. The dear boy looks like he hasn't had a good night's sleep in weeks. He asked me to ask you something," he says and she looks at him expectantly. "You make sure you see that boy before he leaves and let him know that you'll continue to look after Huckleberry for him, you hear?" he tells her with a firm, yet gentle hand on her shoulder.

She can no longer hold back the tears and her dad pulls her into a warm hug.

"Everything's going to be okay, my dear," he whispers, as he caresses her hair. "He'll be okay. He's the luckiest boy we know, remember?" her dad reassures her, and she finds herself laughing through the tears.

She remembers the night Ben played in his first basketball game for Arcadia High. He had already been one of the most popular boys at school, and his popularity only sky-rocketed when he made the game-winning shot as time expired. Everyone had rushed onto the court and Margaret and her dad had ended up standing right next to Caroline Langston. Ben had pushed his way through the crowd and thrown his arms around all three of them. Her dad had offered to take the four of them to the ice cream parlor to celebrate and, to Margaret's surprise, Mrs. Langston had enthusiastically accepted. It was one of the few times Margaret had ever interacted with Mrs. Langston and the first time she saw the warmth that Ben had always described. She was still as refined and gracious as she'd always been, but she beamed with pride as she listened to Ben give them an entertaining play-by-play and would occasionally sweep his messy hair out of his eyes. With the way the conversation and the laughter had flowed so easily, Margaret couldn't help thinking that the four of them looked like the perfect family that night. Her dad had ordered the biggest sundae on the menu for Ben and they'd all broken into "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" when it arrived at their table. Her dad had handed Ben a spoon, saying "To Benjamin Langston, the luckiest boy we know!"

She looks up at her dad with a smile and he smiles back. "There's my perfect little pearl," he says, before wiping her cheeks with his sleeve and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

* * *

     The wind has picked up, and Ben pulls his coat tighter as he sits on the uncomfortable wooden bench. The platform is empty. There are hardly any travelers today, and those who are traveling are sensible enough to wait in the comfort of the waiting room. But Ben prefers the empty platform and would rather stare up and down the empty tracks. He's waiting on a train that will take him to the Ozarks. And he's waiting on a girl.

He reaches into his pocket and opens his gold pocket watch. There's still another half hour until the train arrives. He's nervous she won't be coming but he also tells himself there's still time.  _There's still time for me to see her again. There's still time for me to change my mind about leaving_. He closes the watch and carefully places it back in his coat pocket. His eyes follow the line of the tracks until they disappear into the trees. Slowly, his eyes drift away from the black and gray in the distance. And suddenly she is there, dressed in a long navy blue coat with her hair dancing in the wind. The sight of her walking towards him makes him impervious to the cold. She sits down beside him and studies his face for a moment, wanting to commit every detail to memory. She knows that to do so would require very little effort on her part, and the thought makes her smile.

"I'm so glad you're here," he says, relieved.

"Likewise," she says with a smile and watches as a knowing smile lights up his face. She chews her lip for a moment. "I wanted to let you know that I'll look after Huckleberry for you. And I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry about the way I acted last time. I know how important this is to you and I should have been supportive and I wasn't and I'm sorry. It's just . . . I'm scared, Ben."

The words pour out of her, and the wavering of her voice pierces him deeply. He wishes he knew what to say to offer her some comfort in that moment, but all he can do is give her a sad smile. He puts his arm around her shoulder and she slides into his embrace. She rests her head on his shoulder and watches as Ben takes her hand in his. His right hand lazily explores hers, as his other hand plays with her hair. She can feel his lips and his steady breaths against her forehead and the warmth they bring overwhelms her. With each rise and fall of his chest, it's as if she can _feel_ him breathing her in. The scent of Old Spice on his neck is intoxicating, and she lets her imagination run wild with ideas she is not bold enough to act upon. The thought of brushing her lips against his neck, pressing small kisses along his jawline, and finally meeting his lips in a long, lingering kiss leaves her feeling dizzy and flushed.

"I, um . . . I wanted to give you something," he says softly, breaking her reverie. She sits up and fidgets with her hair as Ben reaches into the bag at his feet and pulls out two books. "It's not much, but these are for you. Merry Christmas, Meg."

She takes the books from him and looks at them with a wistful sigh. One is a book about how to make pressed flowers and the other is an atlas. "They're wonderful, Ben. Thank you. I'm so sorry, I should have gotten you something," she says, feeling the tears prick her eyes.

"You being here is enough," he tells her, as he reaches out to gently tuck her hair behind her ear. "More than enough," he adds softly. His fingers linger in her hair and he slowly pulls a small lock of it towards him. "Could I . . . would you give me a lock of your hair?"

Her heart flutters.  _Like something out of a fairy tale._  She nods, and keeps her eyes fixed on Ben's face as he takes his pocket knife from his coat pocket and cuts a small lock of her hair just below her shoulder. She braids it for him and he licks the back of a stamp and uses the adhesive to seal the ends, before placing the stamp on an envelope.

"I promised that I'd write to you. Can't let the postage go to waste, can I?" he teases, and it causes her to laugh for the first and only time today. She smiles as she watches him write her name and address on the envelope. He puts the envelope inside a book, and her eyes widen when she sees that it's the Arcadia Public Library's copy of Yeats'  _Irish Fairy and Folk Tales_. He gives her a mischievous smile and shrugs. "Well, what's one more secret between best friends, right?"

He takes the gold pocket watch from his coat. "An early Christmas present from my mother," he explains, sounding slightly pensive. He opens the back cover and she sees that his name has been engraved inside. He carefully places her lock of hair inside, closes the watch, and slides it back into his pocket.

The train whistle sounds in the distance and Margaret tries to swallow the lump in her throat. Ben gathers his bag and takes a few steps forward, looking down the tracks for the first appearance of the train. She sits on the bench and takes a deep breath, summoning the courage to say goodbye to him again. She comes to stand beside him and slips her hand into his. At the touch of her hand, he turns his head to look at her. Neither of them says anything, the weight of the moment hanging over them. She takes a breath and steps closer, raising herself onto her tiptoes to put her arms around his shoulders. He drops his bag on the ground and wraps both his arms around her, lifting her off the ground slightly.

"You're my best friend. I don't want anything bad to ever happen to you," she says, tearfully. He lets out a heavy breath, and she knows that he remembers how he had said those same words to her once. He hugs her tighter. One of his hands slides up her back and his fingers curl into her hair at the nape of her neck. A shiver runs through her, and she feels as if she's melting into him.

"Everything's going to be okay, Meg. I'll be careful, I promise," he whispers. They separate slightly and he runs his fingers through her hair, marveling at how perfect her hair is. He cups her face in his hands and looks deep into those beautiful blue eyes. "There's still so much to live for," he tells her and gently dabs her cheek with his sleeve. He leans his forehead against hers and closes his eyes.

She keeps her forehead pressed against his as she watches the train pull into the station.  Her fingers tighten their hold on the lapels of his coat, wishing she could keep him here, and knowing that she can't. The train comes to a stop, and Margaret releases her hold on Ben's coat. He slings his bag over his shoulder and holds out his other hand to her. Slowly, they walk hand in hand toward the train. He boards the train and stands in the open door. As the final whistle sounds, he quickly reaches out to cup her chin and presses a kiss to her cheek. She closes her eyes and breathes him in one last time.

"I'll see you soon, Meg," he whispers in her ear as the train begins moving. He smiles brightly and keeps his eyes on her the entire time. She waves goodbye and watches the train make its way down the tracks until it disappears into the woods.

* * *

     The next three years pass quickly and are unexpectedly three of the best years of Margaret's life. The first few weeks following Ben's departure had been difficult, as the reports from Europe and the Pacific now carried greater significance. The rigorous schedule of basic training had yielded little opportunity for Ben to write any letters. The lack of communication from Ben, coupled with the constant blaring of the radio broadcasts, wreaked havoc on her nerves. Thankfully, her dad had been there to remind her that a few weeks of unease was a small price to pay if it meant Ben would be as well-trained as possible. He also reassured her that while Ben was in training, he was nearby and he was safe. And sure enough, the arrival of spring had brought the wildflowers back to the fields and had also signaled the return of Ben's long-awaited letters. He had excelled throughout basic training and had been selected to attend Officer Candidate School at Fort Benning. She knows that he is anxious to serve and that it is only a matter of time before he is sent overseas, but she prays the war might come to an end before then. Especially when Ben writes to her in the summer and tells her that he had decided to join an experimental paratrooper regiment at Camp Toccoa. The idea of him jumping out of a plane only to land in hostile enemy territory terrifies Margaret. And while she does not want Ben to fail to complete the course, she is relieved to know that Ben will remain stateside for the next year. She practically memorizes the book he had given her on how to press flowers and wonders if he ever misses his hometown. Her summer days are spent taking long walks down to the lake, with Huckleberry always at her side, and collecting wildflowers. She daydreams about him as she spends afternoons on the lake. She sends him pressed flowers from Arcadia and is delighted when Ben's letters include pressed daisies from Georgia and North Carolina and Kentucky and Tennessee.

Inevitably, Ben's regiment is deployed to Europe a couple months after Margaret's sixteenth birthday. The first letter Ben writes from the other side of the Atlantic Ocean arrives on a beautiful autumn afternoon. In it, he apologizes for the deliberately belated birthday wishes, but he had wanted to include a couple special items which hadn't been ready in time for her birthday. She feels lit from within when she finds the photograph of Ben, newly promoted to first lieutenant and looking more dashing than ever in his uniform, standing in front of the  _Samaria_  in New York that past September and a perfectly pressed white daisy from a field in Wiltshire.

Arcadia thrives during the war years, and so does Margaret. The machines of the Langston Furniture Company are re-purposed to assist the war effort, and there is no shortage of well-paying jobs or paperwork to be filed. Her dad gets her a job at the factory, and she begins working in the front office a few afternoons a week after school. The job allows her organizational and mathematical skills to shine, and her shyness fades away as she interacts with more and more people and learns a little bit about all the factory's various departments. Her newfound confidence feeds into her performance both at school and at work. While she had always been a good student, it is only now that she begins to give serious consideration to attending college. She remembers the glowing letters Ben had written her from his days at the University of Chicago, and she wants to experience that same joy for herself. After some encouraging words from her teachers, Margaret seriously considers applying to the University of Missouri.

The summer of 1944 marks the beginning of what will be one of the most momentous years of Margaret Anderson's life. In June, Ben makes his first combat jump and safely lands in Normandy. The next month is a nerve-wracking one, as the radio and newspaper reports of D-Day continue to pour in. It is a few weeks after her seventeenth birthday when Margaret receives a letter from Ben, and she breathes a sigh of relief when she sees that it was written at the end of June. He had written to her immediately after returning to England, wanting to let her know that he was safely back in Wiltshire with only a few minor injuries and to wish her a happy birthday. His thoughtfulness overwhelms her and tears of happiness run down her cheeks when she finds that he has sent her a white daisy from Sainte-Marie-du-Mont.

As she begins her senior year of high school, Ben's Company is engaged in what feels like a never-ending series of battles throughout the Netherlands. The operation is ultimately unsuccessful, and his discouragement following a week of intense battles and heavy losses is palpable. Any hope of the war ending by Christmas is gone and the largest and bloodiest battle of the war is still to come.

Amid all this bad news, Margaret feels almost guilty for how well things are going in her life. Everything is going well at school and at the factory, and she and her dad are the happiest they've been since the fire. Each night, she opens the atlas Ben had given her and circles his latest location. She is still a girl who has never been anywhere but Arcadia, but she travels to the beaches of France and the fields of Holland through Ben's letters and the flowers he sends her. At school, she overhears the other girls gossiping about how Margaret has a handsome G.I. writing to her. Some of the girls even refer to Benjamin Langston as "Margaret's beau", the sound of which brings a dreamy smile to her face.

On the other side of the Atlantic, some of the men in Ben's platoon have noticed that the only person Ben ever writes to, other than his mother, is a girl named Meg. After learning about Huckleberry and about Ben's wealthy McCormick relations, they begin referring to Ben as Nick Charles and to the mysterious Meg as "Ben's girl" and "Mrs. Nora Charles". The letter in which he had relayed this particular information had been written just after Christmas, when the Siege of Bastogne had ended. After a miserable week in the damp and the cold, his body ached and he wondered if he'd ever feel warm again. But with the siege broken, there was a quiet beauty to the hazy sunlight and snow-covered trees of the Ardennes that morning. It's the first quiet morning he had experienced in months, and he could almost convince himself that it was Christmas morning and that he was back home in Arcadia. In that moment, he wants nothing more than to write to his mother and to Meg. He digs through a few inches of snow at his feet and picks a flower for Meg. The teasing he had endured from his fellow soldiers that winter now brings a smile to his face, and he addresses his letter to "My dearest Nora" and signs it "Love, Your Nick".

That letter thrills Margaret like nothing she has ever experienced before. She reads his letter in front of the fireplace, with her favorite quilt wrapped around her. The joy that had been absent from his letters had returned, and that fact brings more warmth than the fire does. He tells her that he will likely be promoted to captain in the spring and somehow, he just believes that the war will be over soon and that he will live to see peacetime. He writes that he hopes to come home soon, so that he can tell her about his experiences in Europe and so much more.

She had acknowledged her growing feelings for Ben long ago, but when she received that letter, she had dared to hope that Ben's feelings towards her were more than platonic. She begins to imagine the life she wants after the war ends—a life in a small house beside the ocean, where she and her best friend chase Huckleberry and their beautiful children around a small garden. On the weekends, they would take afternoon naps in the hammock in the backyard. They would watch the golden California sunsets after dinner and fall asleep, wrapped in each other's arms, to the sound of the Pacific Ocean's waves.

It's a future she had believed was possible when she walked into her dad's office in February to find Edward Langston shaking her dad's hand before turning to her and greeting her as his future daughter-in-law.

* * *

     It has been two months since that afternoon. Now, it's a sunny morning in April. It's the sort of morning that she should be enjoying outdoors. She should be picking wildflowers for pressing or chasing Huckleberry through the fields instead of hiding in a corner of the barn and filled with despair. She holds one of her dad's handkerchiefs in her hands, occasionally burying her face in the cotton to muffle the sound of her sobs and to prevent the tears from falling on her pristine white gown. The desperation she has felt these past two months slowly gives way to hopelessness, as the inevitability of today settles upon her like a heavy wool cloak.

She looks around the barn and her eyes focus on the beautiful brown horse standing a few feet away from her, the sound of its breaths deep and steady. She smiles a small, sad smile as she looks at Lancelot. The barn used to be one of her favorite places. It was where she would spend her afternoons reading every book she could get her hands on and letting them transport her to seaside castles and enchanted forests far, far away from Arcadia. There are times when, if it's quiet enough in the barn, she can almost hear the sound of a woman humming a lullaby, and she knows it must be a memory, one of the few she has, of her mother. The barn had been a place of simple and happy memories. She remembers watching her dad working, all the while whistling a happy tune. Until that awful morning, when she witnessed the disappearance of those two men, her most vivid memory of the barn was from when she was seven years old. Her dad had allowed her to stay up all night, and she had sat on his lap as he read Yeats'  _Irish Fairy and Folk Tales_  to her. Then, just before the dawn broke, the two of them had watched as a perfect brown foal had entered the world and taken his first steps on his wobbly legs. Margaret had named him Lancelot, and her dad had smiled and told her the name was perfect. She looks at Lancelot now, and she wants nothing more than to throw his saddle on him and ride as far away from the barn, as far away from Arcadia as possible.

In the ten years since Lancelot's birth, the barn has become a place she associates with death. Seven years ago, she had watched those two men disappear, never to return again. And today, on what should be the happiest day of her life, Margaret knows something else will disappear from this earth forever as well.

If she closes her eyes, she can almost hear the Returned man's voice saying that everything will be okay and to just let go. But those rules don't apply to the living. In a matter of hours, Margaret Anderson will disappear, but Margaret Langston will have to find a way to carry on.

She doesn't know whether to weep bitterly or laugh hysterically. How many times over the past three years had she entertained the idea of one day being able to call herself Margaret Langston, only to discover that whoever answered wishes made on stars by foolish teenage girls had a cruel sense of humor? After all, there had been two eligible bachelors in the Langston household. And today, she would become Mrs. Warren Langston, not Mrs. Benjamin Langston.

She shudders to think that the past two months were merely a grim portent of the miserable life that awaits her. The past two months have been marked by desperation and hopelessness, as she had been forced to accept just how little control she has over her own life. Edward Langston's decisions had cost twelve men their lives and turned her dad into a broken man. When he announced that the wedding would take place in April, Margaret had panicked. She had looked at her dad and asked that the wedding be postponed until the summer so that she could finish high school. Edward Langston had scoffed and told her that the education of girls was a waste of both time and money and that the wedding would be going ahead as planned. That afternoon, she had walked down to the river and wept bitterly. She was one of the brightest students in her class and she would not be allowed to earn her high school diploma, her dream of ever attending college essentially destroyed.

For two months, she had tried to find a way to break the engagement. So many times, she had wanted to pack a suitcase and run away from Arcadia. But she has nowhere to go. She has no money, no formal education, and no relatives who could take her in. If she had been older, if she'd been the same age as Ben, she could have already been away at college. Or she could have trained as a nurse with the Army and had the means to make her own life. But she is only seventeen years old and deeply fearful of what might happen if she did run away. Edward Langston is not just a powerful man, he is a cruel one. And she has no doubt that he would have her hunted down like he had those factory workers hunted down or that he would harm her dad to keep the truth behind the factory fire from ever getting out.

And while she feels like a lamb being led to slaughter, she understands why her dad has agreed to the arrangement. His daughter's life has been defined by an economic depression and a world war. In exchange for his loyalty, Edward Langston had told her dad that his daughter would have a better life. Money can provide an illusory sense of security, and the Langstons are undoubtedly wealthy. But Margaret would have gladly exchanged financial security for the freedom to live out the rest of her days on the Andersons' farm. She can't hold back a sob as she realizes that she'll never sleep in her bed again. She'll never come down the stairs and eat breakfast with her dad at the kitchen table again. She'll never sit in the rocking chair on the front porch and read Ben's letters again.

 _Ben._  She whispers his name sadly and disappears into the same memory each time: Ben standing barefoot in a garden with a smile on his handsome face and the scent of gardenias thick and sweet on a summer afternoon.

She buries her face in her hands as she remembers the day the engagement announcement appeared in the newspaper. The truth behind the factory fire had been effectively covered up, and the idea of Warren Langston marrying a girl with no fortune or connections made no sense to anyone in town. Everywhere she went, she could hear people whispering about her. And when she overheard the rumor that was running rampant through town, it was as if the ground had suddenly fallen out beneath her. She had run home as fast as she could, running so hard that it had felt like her lungs were burning up inside her chest. The idea that she, a virgin who has never even kissed a boy, had seduced a man old enough to be her father and had fallen pregnant with his child horrified her. But for a brief moment, she had wondered whether she should embrace the reputation she had wrongly acquired. Perhaps the way to break the engagement was to wound Edward Langston's pride, to make him reconsider marrying his son and heir to a girl of loose morals. But simply perpetuating the gossip was unlikely to bring about the desired effect. And it might all be for naught. The chances that Edward Langston would change his mind are slim, and the shame it would bring, not only to her but to her dad as well, is too much to bear. Ultimately, she would never be able to actually follow through on the idea. Ben has made no promises to her, and yet she wants every new experience to be shared with him. To experience certain things with anyone else would feel like a huge betrayal.

She had written a frantic letter to Ben immediately, and the lack of any response from him hurts her more than anything else from the past two months has. She tells herself not to be so selfish. There is a war raging across Europe. He could be deeply entrenched behind enemy lines. Or he could be gravely injured and fighting for his life. Or he simply hasn't received her letter yet.

_Or he could have met someone._

It's the first time the thought occurs to her, and it sends a fresh and powerful new wave of pain through her. He is a handsome, young officer from a well-connected family, and she is just a factory worker's daughter from a small town. He had parachuted into Normandy and held the line at Bastogne.  _He deserves the best_ , she tells herself,  _and I'm just not it_. She feels so foolish for thinking such a boy could ever be hers. She remembers something he had told her years ago: Ben had always had his freedom. He could still have that perfect life beside the ocean. But it would never be with her. Someone else would get to share that perfect life with that perfect boy. She feels as if her heart is crumbling to ashes. She's never cried this hard before, and she doubts she ever will again.

Suddenly, her dad's voice calling her name cuts through the sound of her sobs.  _No! Please no! Not yet!_  she screams inside. The barn door swings open and her dad walks in, looking so relieved. He had been worried that she had run away without saying goodbye and that he'd never see her again. Or worse, that she might have done something desperate. All morning, he'd been haunted by the thought of discovering his little girl's lifeless body floating in the river. His relief is palpable but short-lived.

"Dad! Please don't make me do this!" she begs him tearfully, and it breaks his heart. He wants to run over to her and take her in his arms, but Edward Langston storms in behind him. Margaret's blood runs cold at the sight of him. He sneers at her before turning to her dad.

"For Christ's sake, Anderson! Tell your girl to stop her sniveling and get in the car. We're running late enough as it is!" he barks at her dad in his usual condescending tone as he storms out of the barn.

Her dad kneels down and she throws her arms around his neck as he helps her to her feet. He takes the handkerchief from her and gently dabs her eyes and cheeks. "No more tears, Meg. This is for the best," he says and leads her to the waiting car.

* * *

     There is very little she remembers of the wedding ceremony or the reception at the Langston house that follows. She had stared out the window in silence on the way to the church, feeling the beginnings of a rift forming between her and her dad. When her dad had not acquiesced to her final plea to call off the wedding, she hadn't broken down in tears. Instead, she had felt a chill settle deep in her bones, as if something inside her had been extinguished. Rather than break, her heart had hardened.

As she stood at the back of the church, she could see Warren standing at the altar, his eyes fixed in the same vacant way that they always were. With his hair neatly combed and his suit perfectly pressed, he is not an unattractive sight. Had he been the only Langston son, she might have been able to convince herself that she was—as she had overheard every woman in town whispering over the past couple months—the luckiest girl in Arcadia.

But Warren is not Edward Langston's only son. And though his eyes may be the same color as Ben's, there is no sparkle or tenderness in them when he looks at her. Just as there is no sparkle or tenderness in her eyes when she looks at him.  _We'll likely never look at each other any differently than we do now_ , she thinks to herself,  _with neither joy, nor love, nor light_.

This is not how she had imagined her wedding day, and she realizes that the only way she'll make it through this dreadful day is by forcing her mind to go completely blank. When the pastor declares them man and wife and tells Warren he may kiss his bride, she summons every last drop of willpower to keep herself from collapsing in a heap. She clasps her hands together tightly and fixes her stare on a spot on the wall behind Warren, keeping her eyes open the entire time. Closing her eyes will only lead to daydreams of sharing this moment with Ben and inevitably to crippling disappointment when she opens her eyes to find it is not a handsome young man in his captain's uniform smiling back at her with a twinkle in his brown eyes as he whispers, "Hello, Mrs. Langston." It is her first kiss, and it is quickly over and done with. She takes Warren's arm and gives her first performance as Margaret Langston, a woman of perfect posture and perfectly polite smiles that do not reach her eyes, as they exit the church.

As she stands in the parlor beside Warren and greets their guests that afternoon, she realizes that this is the first time she has ever been inside the Langston house. Suddenly, it feels like there is so much of his Ben's life that she knows nothing about. She is temporarily distracted from her efforts to keep her mind completely blank, and all sorts of doubts come rushing in. _How well did she really know Ben? She loves everything about him, but does she love him? Or was it only gratitude? Was she special to him, or was he simply kind and charming to everyone?_

Just as she feels like she might burst into tears again, she catches the flash of something white from the corner of her eye. On the second floor landing, Huckleberry sticks his head between the balusters and wags his tail as soon as he sees her. Her panic dissipates, and for the first time that day, her smile makes it all the way to her eyes.

It turns out there are some things in this world that even Edward Langston cannot destroy. That a man so monstrous could give the world a son as wonderful as Ben is nothing short of a miracle. And while there are pieces of Ben's life she will never know, there are pieces of him that belong only to her. He is Captain Benjamin Langston to everyone else, but she is the only one who gets to calls him Ben, the only one who gets to call him their best friend. Margaret Anderson had become Margaret Langston, but there are still pieces of that happy, lovely girl out there in the world. Those pieces exist because of the boy who calls her Meg, the boy who always remembered to look for the simple beauty of a white daisy in even the most desolate of war zones, the boy who had pulled her into his arms after she had told him the biggest secret of her life. And somewhere across the Atlantic Ocean, in the picturesque Bavarian Alps, a lock of that happy, lovely girl's hair sits safely enclosed within a gold pocket watch, carried next to the steadily beating heart of that wonderful boy.


End file.
